


Caught in the Past

by GracieJay



Category: Transformers (Bay Movies), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: 1974!Bee, Embedded Audio, Herbie Fully Loaded AU, Street Racing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-11
Updated: 2017-12-11
Packaged: 2019-02-13 13:08:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12984729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GracieJay/pseuds/GracieJay
Summary: AU where Bumblebee is a sentient 1974 Camaro who likes street racing. Inspired by the old Disney movies, Herbie, and the first Transfirmers film. All of Bee's talking is pulled from the Herbie Fully Loaded soundtrack and can be heard by pressing play. This is all I have so far, might write more if there is interest.





	Caught in the Past

“It isn’t fair.”

“Life rarely is.”

“I know, but is it some sort of law that dicks get the chicks and cool cars?”

Two teenage boys were sitting outside of Tranquility High School, taking advantage of the nice weather during open campus lunch. Miles, who had been complaining the entire time, had also climbed a tree to get a better view of the scene across the parking lot.

“Natural selection.”

“Ouch, that’s harsh,” Miles said, looking down at his best friend who had opted not to climb the tree, but instead to eat his lunch sullenly. When Sam didn’t comment, he went back to gazing wistfully at Trent DeMarco’s new car. “I just know it’s some sort of import, and look at that custom paint job! It’s so shiny I could lick it.”

“You got problems dude.” Sam shook his head, trying to rid himself of that metal image.

“Hm, maybe not. Football Extraordinaire’s friends are putting their grubby little hands all over it.” Miles spent the next few minutes relaying what Trent and his friends were doing. Sam pointedly ignored him by pretending to text someone. Miles knew he was pretending because Sam had three numbers in his phone- Miles’ and his parents’. 

“C’mon, you can’t tell me you’re not even a little bit interested. Mikaela’s over there,” Miles added slyly.

This did cause Sam to look up.

“Called it. Don’t know why you’re so interested in her… She’s an evil jock’s concubine. Remember last time you tried to hit on one of his girlfriends?”

Sam groaned. “I didn’t know she was his!”

“Does he still call you Witlooney Bin?”

“Yes,” Sam admitted. He had just been telling her about how his great great great whatever grandfather had been the first to explore the Artic and then spent the rest of his life in a mental hospital afterwards. It was a cool story…

Miles snorted, then quickly stood up on the tree branch. “Hey look, they’re gonna start it up!”

They could hear the engine from across the parking lot.

“You know what he’s gonna do with that car, right?” Miles asked.

“Get a speeding ticket?” Sam replied hopefully.

“Probably, right after he’s done drag racing with it. Heard there’s a big event this Friday.”

Sam wasn’t surprised. Illegal street racing was pretty popular in SoCal and Trent was definitely stupid enough to do it. He had never gone to a race in person, but he had seen plenty of news reports talking about the consequences. “If you get caught, some places even impound and crush the car.”

“Think that’s what happened to his Hummer? Or did his loaded daddy let him have _two_ cars?” Miles was finally starting to sound bitter.

“You’re right, it isn’t fair.” Sam put his phone back into his pocket and then checked his back pocket to make sure his wallet was still there.

“Hey, isn’t your old man buying you a car? You have nothin’ to complain about.”

“Half a car actually,” Sam corrected, “up to two thousand dollars.”

“This summer is going to be so sweet! No more bikes, no more nosy parents…”

Sam agreed. Soon, he was going to have his own set of wheels and it was going to change his life for the better.

XX

His father took a left out of the expensive car dealership and drove down the road. Sam crossed his arms. That had been a sick joke, getting his hopes up then throwing them off a proverbial cliff.

_“Oh my god, Dad! A Porsche? You’ve gotta be kidding me!”_

_“You’re right, I’m not getting you a Porsche.”_

Ha ha. Very funny.

Sam was a little surprised when they drove past the first used car lot. _Of course,_ he had thought, _Dad would be that cheap._ But not only did he drive past the first one, he skipped all the other ones too until it looked like they were heading out of the city.

“Dad, where are we going?” Sam asked, leaning forward in the seat as if it would help him see better.

“You know son,” Ron Witwicky began, “I’m very proud of you. You got the grades and you’ve spent the last two summers earning the cash; it shows your determination.”

Sam sighed. He _knew_ where this was going.

“But with a car comes responsibility and I don’t want you to expect me to do everything for you. I want this to be _your_ car. If you’re more invested in it, maybe you’ll take care of it… Or not. Remember what happened to your first videogame console?” Ron looked pointedly at his son.

“That wasn’t my fault! And what are you saying; you’re not going to buy me a car?”

“No, you’re going to buy it. You’ll be an adult soon, getting a car is the first step,” Ron said cheerily, pleased by his ingenious idea. “Anyways, everyone crashes their first car. Wouldn’t want it to be too fancy.”

“Two K isn’t enough to buy a car.” Sam felt like his dreams were being crushed right in front of his face, because they were. He’d already accepted that he wasn’t going to get a smokin’ hot ride like Trent, but two thousand dollars would barely buy something that ran, let alone look halfway decent.

“Oh sure it is.”

Ron Witwicky flicked his blinker on.

The car lot, if it could even be qualified for such a generous name, was on the edge of town and was the equivalent to the corner of the garage that hasn’t seen the light of day since you moved in.

“Bobby B’s Scrap and Salvage…?” Sam read the hand-painted sign aloud. “’We put the cash in crash’? Dad, this is a junkyard! I want a car, not a piece of crap, Dad.”

Ron turned the convertible into the dirt drive and through the open gate of a chain link fence. Cars and their parts were stacked in piles twice Sam’s height. The high-pitched whine of metal grinding against metal resonated across the lot as the crusher flattened junk too junky to be sold.

“When I was your age, I’d happy with four wheels and an engine.”

“Dad, most of these are lucky to have one wheel- the steering wheel,” Sam interrupted.

“No sacrifice—”

“No victory. I know, I got it. The old Witwicky motto, mhm,” Sam said, rolling his eyes.

Dogs barked as Ron parked the car. Due to the lack of a designated parking lot, Sam worried that their own car might become sucked into the junkyard’s mass while they weren’t looking. It just kept going. Broken, forgotten vehicles were haphazardly scattered as far as the eye could see.

“Look, we could make it a project; that car’s body, the other’s engine and rims… It’d be fun. We’d get some quality father son bonding time in.” Ron was determined to always put a positive spin on a situation, despite the fact he was not mechanically inclined.

“I just,” Sam pinched the bridge of his nose, “want a car.”

Ron chuckled. “I’m sure there’s whole cars here, go on, take a look around while I find the owner.”

It was an overwhelming task. He had been right in saying that a car would be lucky to have wheels. Then, when he found one that looked mostly intact on the outside, it’d be missing something like an engine or seats.

Ron Witwicky found his son half an hour later, salesman in the lead.

“Uncle Bobby B,” the dark-skinned man held out a hand, “I heard ya were looking for a car?”

Sam nodded and shook the man’s hand. “Sam.”

“Well, lemme talk to ya, Sam. There’s a certified, pre-owned champion out there; your first enchilada of freedom waiting under one of these hoods.” The man clapped Sam on the back with one hand and gestured grandly to the hoard of repossessed and totaled cars with the other.

Sam must have looked doubtful, because the man continued his sales pitch.

“I’m gonna tell ya something, son. The driver don’t pick the car, the car picks the driver. Here, I’ll show ya ‘round. I have some cars that’ll be just right for ya.”

The tour took almost an hour between the walking and the salesman’s enthusiasm. When Ron started up an unrelated conversation with the man, Sam found himself wandering back to a Chevy Chevette. It was a piece of crap, but in comparison to everything else, it was practically a Corvette. He tapped a tire with his foot to see if it would fall off.

Yeah right.

But it was still a car.

Sam was about to call his father over when he heard a burst of static, like an old radio switching stations. He almost ignored it. It was probably some employee on break. When he turned in the direction it came from, it started again. He followed it behind a pile of scrap and his jaw dropped. Hidden in all the junk was an old, yellow Camaro with black racing stripes.

 

/ _Hello, Is it me you’re looking for?/_

The radio had found a song for just a moment and then switched off.

“Whoa,” Sam breathed. He touched the driver’s side fender cautiously. When it didn’t dissolve into a pile of rust, he moved his fingers up along the windshield and above the door. The car had seen better days; the paint was grungy and had rough patches, and the side looked like it had lost a fight with a median.

Sam bent down to look at the interior and discovered that the windows were rolled down. Strange. He hoped it had windows. It was unlocked so he sat in the driver’s seat. An amused smile tugged at his lips; the black and yellow theme applied to the inside as well. The black leather seats were accented with a yellow center and a worn out air freshener shaped like a bee hung from the rearview mirror next to a disco ball.

“This feels… right,” he said to himself.

Placing one hand on the steering wheel and the other on the gearshift, he envisioned himself driving it, picking up his future girlfriend with it, going wherever he wanted… With his thumb he brushed some grime away from the center of the wheel.

“I thought this was a Chevrolet?” Sam had been expecting to see the bowtie-like symbol, instead the symbol looked… like a face?

“Sam! Did you find something?” Ron shouted.

Sam waved a hand out of the window. “Over here!”

Ron and the salesman walked into view. Was Sam imagining it, or did the salesman suddenly look nervous?

“Isn’t it great?” For the first time since they pulled into the Porsche dealership, Sam Witwicky was feeling excited.

The salesman cleared his throat. “’S a lot of trouble. There’s somthin’ wrong with the parking brakes an’ the radio’s on the fritz…”

“How much?” Mr. Witwicky asked.

“Due to the semi classic nature of the car, the slick wheels, and the custom paint job…”

“But it’s faded!” Sam exclaimed.

“But it’s custom.”

“It’s custom faded?” After everything he had said was wrong with the car, he was trying to jack up the price based on an old paint job?

“It’s your first car, I wouldn’t expect you to understand.” He turned to the hopefully more reasonable adult. “Actually, it’s not for sale. In fact, I’m plannin’ on scrapping it for parts.”

Ron Witwicky looked expectantly to his son. His money, his responsibility to negotiate.

“That’s ridiculous!”

The salesman shrugged. “The old thing’s worth more dead than alive, outta the car, kid.”

Sam reluctantly obliged. The Camaro looked like it was in (mostly) working condition and it was easily the nicest car on the lot. How could parts be worth more than the whole thing?

As they walked away, Sam heard familiar radio static.

 

_/Hey you!... can't you see me standing here?_

_I've got my back against the record machine_

_I ain't the worst that you've seen_

_Oh can't you see what I mean?/_

 

 

The trio of humans had jumped at the sudden noise. The salesman then slammed a fist on the car’s roof, turning the music off, and muttered something about the broken radio.

It was eerie how the Camaro’s broken radio had found a song with appropriate lyrics. The male singer’s voice had been almost desperate, begging to be noticed.

Sam spied the parking boot on the front wheel. Combined with the obvious wiring problem and the exterior scratching, it was highly unlikely the Camaro was worth what he was about to do.

“Two thousand.”

Now the two adults were staring at him.

The salesman laughed. “Kid…”

“The brakes don’t work, the paint is faded, and it looks like it was sideswiped. And the radio.” Sam paused as the man seemed to consider his words. “What parts are actually worth salvaging in this thing? Does it even run?” Sam himself didn’t know, but he was pretty sure it did. “Two thousand.”

The salesman took a long look at the car and rested a hand on its hood.

HONK

Inexplicably, the Camaro’s horn had went off. The salesman drew his hand back like he had been shocked. “Two thousand,” he agreed.

Sam couldn’t help but feel smug.

 

XX

 

Despite all the talk of Sam needing to do things himself and be an adult, his father took care of the paperwork; all Sam had to do was sign. This left him plenty of time to watch Bobby B’s assistant, Manny, take the boot off the car. _His car._

He absently began tapping the rhythm of a song stuck in his head on the stack of tires he was sitting on. “Isn’t that a bit extreme? Don’t blocks work just as well?”

Manny tensed. “Not for this car,” he said quietly.

“Okay…” They sat in silence as Manny finished the job. He backed up as soon as the boot was off like he expected the car to immediately roll away. It didn’t.

“Can I start it up? I mean, it does have an engine right?” Sam said, only half joking. He stood up to confirm and placed his hands on the hood.

“Oh it runs. Wouldn’t bother checking the engine though, the latch is stuck or something,” said Manny. “Here’s the keys.”

“What?” Sam accepted the key ring with one hand while sliding the other’s fingertips under the hood’s seam. Sure enough, the latch wouldn’t move no matter which way he pushed or pulled on it. “What do I do when the,” he thought about what parts were under there, “oil needs to be changed?”

Manny rolled his eyes. “Just take it to a mechanic. Do you even know how to drive stick?”

“I—” Sam felt his heart drop. “No… I wasn’t planning on getting a car this old.”

Something under the hood starting making a hissing noise. Sam groaned. Maybe he had made a mistake…

“I can show you the basics. Get in.” Sam did and moved to put the key in the ignition. “Wait, buckle your seatbelt first.”

“But I’m not leaving the lot?” Sam did as he was told though.

“The ‘74 Camaro has a seatbelt interlock system, all seatbelts have to be engaged or else the car won’t start,” Manny explained. “Okay, now press the clutch down with your left foot.”

“The what?”

At this point, the underpaid assistant realized he had to start from the very basics. He pointed out the clutch, the brake, and the accelerator. He went over the different gears, how to switch them and when to shift from first to second. The teenager had looked so lost that he was a little concerned to switch from theory to practice.

“I think I got this. Clutch, neutral, ignition, first gear…”

“Brake?” Manny supplied.

Sam smiled. “Right foot on the brake, release the emergency brake, and ease off the clutch while pressing the gas pedal.”

Manny let out a sigh of relief. “Correct. Now try it.” He closed the door and took a step back. “Don’t be discouraged if it doesn’t work on the first try, just brake and put it in neutral.”

Sam took a deep breath. This was his car now, whether he liked it or not, and he was going to drive it. The first steps were easy once he memorized them. The Camaro had started up with a satisfying purr; however, he hesitated over the crucial step of switching from the brake to the accelerator. He knew it wasn't a big deal if it stalled, but he wanted to get it right. Slowly pressing the gas pedal down, his left foot started to leave the clutch… And suddenly he was moving.

"Yes!"

Manny nodded his head. "Good job... watch where you're going!"

Sam quickly turned the wheel so that he was headed for the path instead of another car. He drove to the main building (which was actually a trailer home) slowly with Manny following behind. As soon as the gate was in view, the engine revved and Sam had to fight with the gearshift and brake to bring the vehicle to a stop.

Bobby B and his father were waiting out front. When Sam turned the car off, Ron turned to the salesman and said, "Are you sure it's safe to drive? If the brakes are broken—"

"It's just the parking brakes," he reassured.

"It felt fine driving over here, the brakes were just a little sticky," Sam said.

Ron hummed. "Well, we'll take it in tomorrow morning to have it looked at, alright?"

The paperwork was complete and after demonstrating that he could start the car without any problems, Sam was allowed to drive home.

XX

His first stop was obviously Miles’ house. He was supposed to go home, especially since the brakes were iffy, but he _really_ wanted to show off his new ride. Instead of knocking on the door, Sam honked the horn until his friend showed up.

“Duuuude,” Miles drawled, “not bad at all. It would’ve been a real beauty back in its heyday.”

“Thanks… get in. Let’s go for a drive.”

Navigating the streets in a car was a little different than when he rode his bike, faster. It wasn’t enough to get lost, but he did miss a few turns. Miles didn’t care, he just wanted to hear about the car and then talk about the videogame they were currently playing through. During a lull in the conversation, he turned his attention to the radio.

“How’dya work this thing?” Miles fiddled with it until Sam stopped at the next light.

There was a rectangular glass face with numbers and a needle behind it. On either side were two knobs and below were a series of buttons that lined up with the numbers.

“Well, the knob that looks like a broadcasting tower probably changes the station and the one with the music note probably controls the volume. I think the buttons are for presets,” Sam said.

Miles once more turned the knobs and pressed the buttons “But how do you turn it on?”

“He did say it was broken…” Sam mumbled.

“Can’t be totally broken if it played earlier.”

Sam glanced at it again, trying to come up with an explanation. “It probably has loose wires. Sometimes they’ll connect, right? That’d make sense.”

Miles looked thoughtful for a moment, then slapped his hand down on the dash above the radio a few times.

The car lurched forward, sputtered, and all the needles in the gauges dropped to zero. As luck would have it, the light turned green and the cars behind them began to honk when they didn’t move.

“Miles!” Sam chastened. Removing his right foot from unresponsive gas pedal and pressing the left foot to the clutch, he turned the key in the ignition a few times. Each time resulted in a harsh grinding sound. “The car stalled and it’s your fault.”

The unhappy drivers merged into the other lane, casting them an annoyed glance as they passed. Sam found the button for the emergency flashers and pushed it. Manny had mentioned this might happen. Old cars often stall at lights. He did everything he remembered from the instruction session, but it still refused to start. He contemplated calling his dad when the light turned red again.

“I think there’s something else broken besides the radio,” Miles said.

“You think?!” Sam was frustrated and embarrassed. Maybe the car _was_ worth more as parts.

Heavy base music shook the 1974 Camaro’s frame as a car braked next to them at the light. Its blinding yellow paint gleamed like it had just received a wash and wax. Its driver, a middle-aged man, was also very aware of how nice his brand new Camaro with a single white stripe looked. From the corner of his eye, Sam watched the man as he smirked at the stalled, older counterpart. Sam personally did not care for the other car’s color combination, but for a brief second he wished he had that car. At least it was running.

“Roll the window up, I’m not in the mood for this.” Sam tried the key again.

“But,” Miles began.

“Do it.”

Miles complied, each rotation of the hand crank jerking the window up a few inches. Sam wanted to sink to the seat and die.

The powerful engine next to them roared and it turned right. Miles let out a low whistle.

“I’m going to have to call my dad. He’s gonna be so—”

The light had barely finished switching colors and the Camaro was rolling again. Sam quickly readjusted his feet.

“Hey, you did it! Now, are we going to get some food or what?” Miles asked.

“I… yeah. I’m going through the drive thru though; I don’t want to risk turning the car off.”

XX

Sam felt like he had barely gotten any sleep. It couldn’t be morning already? It wasn’t- the view outside the window was still dark. Something had woken him up though.

He groaned, wanting nothing more than to fall back asleep. If only the late night traffic going down the street would shut up… Some clunker car sounded like a creaky old gate.

His heart stopped.

Scrambling to the window with all the dignity of a fledgling bird, Sam confirmed his fear. His car had _somehow_ slipped free from the blocks placed behind its tires and was rolling backwards! If it hadn’t been for the parking brake problem, he would have thought someone was stealing it.

“Shit!”

His sleep-addled brain had enough sense to grab the key fob on the nightstand before bolting down the stairs and out the back door. Despite the improbability, the car had swerved from its parking spot next to the detached garage to in front of it, following the gravel driveway. Miraculously, Sam caught up to it by the end of the driveway. It must have had very little momentum because as soon as his hands slammed down on the trunk, it stopped.

“Shit.”

Sam rubbed the back of a hand over his eyes. The expletive did little to convey the teenager’s raging emotions fully. The brakes were worse than he thought and his “new” car would have gotten a sizeable dent from a mailbox or tree if he hadn’t had stopped it. How in the world was he going to keep it safe until he could take it to a mechanic tomorrow morning? He was too tired for this.

He carefully took a step back to see if the car would stay. When it did, he moved around to the driver’s side and inserted the key under the door handle (the power lock feature was broken too!). Sitting down on the cool leather seat, Sam took a moment to review the steps to start the car up.

His thought process blanked when he checked the position of the shifting lever and it was in reverse. It should have been in neutral.

The dashboard lit up, blue light illuminating the radio’s red needle as it moved.

 

_/I'm getting tired laying around here at night/_

“What the hell?”

The radio hadn’t acted up since the junkyard, and then he hadn’t even been able to figure out how to work it! For a moment, Sam let himself consider the possibility that _his car was talking to him_. He tapped a finger against the glass face, hoping it would turn off. In response, the doors locked with an audible click.

“Nononono… this isn’t real. This isn’t happening!”

Sam’s overactive imagination payed him no mind and continued the strange fantasy. The brake pedal, which had been pressed down the entire time despite Sam’s bare feet being planted on the floor mats, eased up and the wheel turned. An embarrassing squeak escaped his mouth as the seatbelt crossed his body, trapping him.

The key was still in his hand when the engine roared to life. The gearshift moved itself from reverse to neutral and up to third gear in seconds. By the time Sam’s brain processed that the Camaro was _alive_ , his house was already out of sight.

“What are you doing?! Stop!” Sam grabbed the steering wheel and put both feet on the brake. “C’mon! You’re a car- I drive!”

 

_/You know I'm finally free_

_I'm taking the lead_

_And I don't have to listen to anybody_

_I'm not gonna hit the brakes /_

 

His efforts only made the car’s movements more sporadic and the brake did not move at all. At an intersection, the Camaro quickly spun its wheel in the direction Sam was pulling. He lost his grip, and the car made a sharp right hand turn that shouldn’t have been possible at 40mph.

“Oh my god, I’m sorry! Just let me out, you can have your keys back- here!” Sam dropped the fob into the center cup holder.

_/ I just can't let you go/_

Sam was truly scared now. Nothing would respond to his touch; both the seatbelt and the lock kept him prisoner. _  
_ It was also difficult to feel confident when the only thing he was wearing was his boxers. He hadn’t planned on a late night joyride when he saw his car rolling down the driveway.

Sam took a deep breath, trying to calm down. His car was alive and it kidnapped him. His hand drifted down to his nonexistent pocket to grab his absent cell phone. If only he could call the police…

“Did I do something to offend you? Was it the fast food? I told Miles to be careful, and I was going to clean it up- I certainly wouldn’t have suggested it if I had known you were sensitive! Just please don’t kill me! I’ll do whatever you want, just—”

The radio switched to a station playing classy instrumental music. This was different than when it was “talking.” In fact, it reminded Sam of when someone would stick their fingers in their ears and hum loudly. Was the car _ignoring_ him?

“Did you just tell me to shut up?” He asked in disbelief.

The volume turned up louder.

Well then. Sam kept his hands to himself and his mouth shut. It was hard to do since he usually talked more when he was nervous.

The Camaro drove further away from his neighborhood, stopping at the red lights, but never hesitating beyond that. It seemed to know where it was going.

Sam had absolutely no idea where they were headed. It wasn’t a part of town he was familiar with. He knew it was the industrial zone, but what would the car want there? Did it have more sentient buddies? Was his soon to be dead body going to get dumped?

The area wasn’t as deserted as he thought it would be for that time of night. They met several cars on the road and all of them seemed to be going in the same direction- towards a well-lit area in the distance.

“Are we going somewhere with people? I’m not even dressed!” Sam exclaimed.

The music shut off and the glove compartment fell open. Inside Sam could see a tightly rolled bundle of yellow fabric. The seatbelt loosened enough for him to lean over and pull it out.

“What is this?” Brief patches of light made by street lamps allowed him to make out the finer details. The material was coarse and it looked like a onesie or a jumpsuit. Like the Camaro, it was mostly yellow with black trimming (and not in the best condition). Thick, black stripes ran down the length of each sleeve, continuing on to the middle and ring fingers of the matching pair of gloves. It was a racing suit.

A medium sized Chevrolet symbol was on the chest and inside it was a cursive word.

“Bumblebee?”

All the lights on the dash lit up.

 

_/Yeah, yeah, yeah/_

 

“Bumblebee. Your name is Bumblebee,” Sam guessed. A yellow car with black stripes that was named bumblebee. Why the hell not.

The light in the cabin was now constant. Sam could hear the muffled sounds of hundreds of conversations held simultaneously and of high performance engines. The seatbelt unlocked, prompting Sam to quickly put on the dubious article of clothing.

The car slowed to a crawl as it had to wait for crowds of people to part for it. At first, Sam was embarrassed that someone might have seen him changing, then became concerned that they might notice he wasn’t the one driving. Against his better judgement, he lightly rested his hands on the bottom of the wheel on either side of the central spoke.

“What is this…? Bumblebee?” Sam asked even though he was pretty sure he knew the answer.

 

_/Welcome to my world/_


End file.
